


A Pretty Mess

by WolfesPuppies



Category: The Great Library Series - Rachel Caine
Genre: BDSM, BDSM Scene, Blow Jobs, Bondage and Discipline, Butt Plugs, Caning, Cock Cages, Multi, Negotiations, Pegging, Punishment, bondage mitts, i think thats everything, lines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:21:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23218420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfesPuppies/pseuds/WolfesPuppies
Summary: Dario needs punishment. Santi is happy to oblige.
Relationships: Dario Santiago/Khalila Seif, Dario Santiago/Niccolo Santi/Khalila Seif
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	A Pretty Mess

**Author's Note:**

> Urm. This is the kinkiest thing I have ever written.
> 
> Enjoy!

“Is that everything, Archivist?”

“Yes, Commander, thank you for your help.”

“My pleasure.” Khalila stands and Santi mirrors her, bowing slightly before turning to leave.  
“Would you have a drink?” Santi turns again, surprised.

“Is there something else you need to discuss?”

Khalila bites her lip, a sign of nervousness she’s never quite been able to quell. “It’s -hm. It’s a delicate matter, and a personal one.”

“Ah, I see. Would you prefer to go elsewhere?”

“Here is fine.” Santi nods, but doesn’t retake his seat at her desk, choosing instead to sit in one of the comfortable armchairs set a little to the side. Khalila joins him after pouring them both a drink - wine for him, juice for her. She hesitates a little, collecting her thoughts, before she starts.

“You’re aware of the…particulars of my relationship with Dario?”

Santi blinks. This is not where he’d been expecting the conversation to lead. He is in fact aware of the form their relationship takes - he’d not soon forget the first time he walked into this very office and found Dario on his knees by Khalila’s side.

“Yes.”

“I’ve found, in recent times, with all the changes that have happened, it’s become…harder. I can give him rules and restrictions, but it seems like he needs more. He needs-”

“Discipline?”

“Yes.” Khalila seems grateful that Santi is actively contributing to the conversation, and he can almost sense where it’s going.

“The problem is, I cannot exactly approach anyone who might be able to facilitate that. I was wondering if, as a personal favour, you might be able to recommend someone?”

Santi inclines his head slightly, an approximation of a bow. “I’m honoured that you would trust me with such an undertaking. Have you spoken to Dario about this?”

“Yes, and he agrees.” Something else to surprise Santi - he wouldn’t have expected Dario to admit to any such thing.

“Well then, I’m sure I can find someone who will suit.”

“It would be very much appreciated.”

A few weeks pass before Santi and Khalila have the privacy required to continue the conversation, which gives Santi enough time to research some options. There is something profoundly odd about thinking so much about the sex life of two people both he and Chris consider as children, especially when Santi makes his final decision, but he shakes the thought away. Khalila is Archivist now, and Dario has his own position as Scholar, one rising quickly in the ranks. They aren’t children anymore.

Once their meeting comes to an end, they once again move to the small table by the fire, with juice and wine.

“Have you had chance to think about what we discussed?”

“I have. I’ve found some options, but…I have reservations.”

“Reservations?”

“You and Dario…the positions you hold. As head of your security, I am hesitant to let someone else know the specifics of your relationship. It could lead to unwanted and unwarranted attention. Whilst the people I have found are more than trustworthy, I still feel there is potential for trouble. However, I have one suggestion that may suit.”

“Go on.”

“I have some experience in this area myself.” Santi reveals. Khalila’s expression doesn’t change, but Santi still takes a breath before continuing. “If you and Dario would be willing, I could fulfil that role for you.”

Khalila is silent for so long that Santi thinks he has overstepped his boundaries, and almost starts to apologise for even thinking it.

“That…would be acceptable, to me. I would have to discuss it with Dario, of course.”

“Of course.”

It’s barely a day later when Santi receives a Codex message from Khalila.

_He agrees._

_

Dario had seen Commander Santi in front of his troops before, and there is no doubt that this is a man born to lead. To be the focus of that command now - well, Dario has never felt a stronger desire to drop to his knees and bow his head in submission. He has been told to stand at ease however, manipulated and manhandled into perfect military position, and so he doesn't dare shift, even though the Commander and his Lady are facing the other way, discussing what they're planning in tones low enough that he can't hear. Dario's desire to be obedient doesn't last long however, as soon his cock starts to press uncomfortably against his trousers. He shifts his weight to try and relieve the sensation, but it doesn't work, and eventually he decides he can risk it and sneaks one hand around to reach into his waistband. Unfortunately, Santi turns just as he does.

"You disobedient little shit." Dario has no time to react before the Commander is on him, pulling his hand from his trousers and twisting his arm up his back, the Commander's other arm going around Dario's chest to hold him in place. Dario whimpers, a delicious frission of fear running up his spine, and gets a little more pressure on his arm for his troubles.

"First you disobey your Lady, then me, and then you flaunt your disobedience in front of the both of us. You were right to call for assistance." Santi addresses Khalila over Dario's head. "This may take more than one session to resolve."

The idea of being at the centre of attention like this more than once has Dario glad for the arms holding him up as his knees almost buckle.

Khalila had turned sharply when Santi had noticed Dario’s mistake, and now she advances across the room, with slow, even steps, her elegant black robes flowing behind her in a train. Jewels glint in the low light, pinned to her hijab in an approximation of the crown she wears as Archivist on the most formal occasions. She’s beautiful, and Dario can’t keep his eyes off her. He feels like a butterfly pinned to a board between her piercing eyes and the Commander’s confining arms. When Khalila reaches Dario, she reaches up and takes his chin between two fingers.

“How should he be punished, Commander?”

“I hesitate to recommend anything, he is _your_ boy after all, but maybe we should make sure he keeps those hands to himself. There are some mitts on the table, I believe. Would you be so kind?”

Khalila nods, and is back in front of Dario in seconds, taking his free hand and sliding a leather mitt over it, forcing his fingers into a fist as she buckles it closed at the wrist. Her soft touch sends goose bumps up Dario’s spine, meeting the ones from Santi’s breath on the back of his neck going down Dario’s back. Santi releases his other arm then, only for it to receive the same treatment. His hands are useless now, hanging limply at his side, and Dario has never felt more helpless. His cock has never been harder.

“At ease, boy.” Dario quickly adjusts his position into an approximation of how he was stood before, and only gets minor corrections before his posture is deemed appropriate, and then he is once again left alone in the centre of the room as Santi and Khalila return to the table and their discussion.

“Have you ever caned him?”

Khalila shakes her head. “I have no experience.” She confesses. They’ve discussed it once or twice, had even set up a scene for Dario to be caned at The Hive, but it hadn’t happened for some reason or another – Dario can’t quite remember through the haze of arousal making him unable to focus on anything but the conversation, the press of the fabric against his groin, the mitts on his hands.

Santi hums in consideration. “I could teach you.” He offers, and that doesn’t help Dario’s state of mind at all. _“_ It’s not so different to paddling, and if anything, it’s a little easier, because it’s more direct.”

Khalila thinks for a second, and then nods. “Okay.”

Santi picks up a cane from the table and makes a test strike through the air before walking back over to Dario.

“Normally I’d expect him to keep position himself.” Santi informs Khalila casually. “But seeing as this is a lesson for you as well, I think we should restrain him, make it easier for you.”

“Against the cross would work well, would it not?”

“Perfectly.”

Santi stops in front of Dario, and holds the cane up to his mouth. “Hold this for me, please.” Dario obediently wraps his mouth around the shaft, biting down a little to keep it in place as Santi’s hands move down to Dario’s trousers and he starts to undo the top button. Dario’s hands twitch in an abortive effort to brush Santi away, to complain that he can undress himself, but of course he can’t, and Dario finally realises the point of the mitts. He’s not just helpless with them on, he’s _reliant_. He whines, and Santi looks up and quirks an eyebrow.

“Something to say, boy?”

The cane in his mouth stops Dario from blurting out something stupid, and he’s grateful for it. Instead, he just shakes his head carefully.

“Good.” Santi returns his attention to Dario’s trousers, and pushes them down to pool on the floor before retrieving the cane and using it to direct Dario over to where Khalila is stood by the table.

“Okay?” she asks quietly, in a tone of voice that means she’s dropped out of her role for a second. Dario doesn’t know how to answer for a second. He’s a little off balance thanks to the mitts, and his cock isn’t quite as hard as it had been thanks to the promise of a caning, but the heat pooling in his groin is still very much real, and Khalila’s hand trailing softly up his arm is leaving goose bumps in its wake, and so he nods.

“Are you sure? We can stop?”

This time Dario speaks, the reassurance that this will all stop if only he says the right words all he needs to continue. “Please, my lady. Don’t stop.”

She smiles. Dario gulps.

“Over the table then, dearest.”

Dario bends at the waist, resting on his mitted hands, and waits. It seems like forever before something happens, long enough for him to start to stand again, to look around, but before he can make it half way upright, he is forced back down with a firm hand to the back of his neck, which doesn’t release him.

“He’s not very good at waiting, is he?”

“He likes attention.” Khalila confirms, and that’s all the warning Dario get before there’s something cool dribbling over his hole, and a slim finger pressing in. She works him open carefully and thoroughly, ignoring his whimpers. The Commander’s hand on the back of his neck doesn’t let up once. Finally, when Dario is resisting the urge to thrust against the table, Khalila withdraws her fingers and something else is pressed in, firm and unyielding. It takes a few goes to get it seated, pulling it in and out, but finally the plug comes to a rest, filling Dario up. He is pulled to his feet by the grip on his neck and pushed towards the cross on the wall. He stumbles a little, unused to the feeling of the plug, but gets his feet under him just in time so he doesn’t fall into the wall. It’s the work of minutes to get the cuffs buckled, and he is stretched out, waiting for what’s coming.

“Caning isn’t so different from paddling, when it comes to where to hit.” Santi starts explaining, tapping the cane lightly against Dario’s backside. “But you want to be sure to stay between here-“

The first strike comes out of the blue, a line of fire on the upper curve of Dario’s ass, and he _howls_.

“-and here.” Santi finishes, laying another strike on Dario’s upper thighs. He’s more prepared this time and manages to stifle himself to just a groan. “Anything higher, and you risk hitting the kidneys. Anything lower, and you may damage the tendons in the knees.” Santi returns to gently tapping the cane against Dario’s skin as he lectures. “The best place to hit is here-“

Dario is waiting for it this time, and barely even flinches when the cane snaps down on his thighs.

“He’ll feel it there every time he sits for a week.” Santi tells Khalila, and Dario has a sinking feeling that he suddenly understands the desk and chair set up in the corner of the room, ink and quill waiting.

Santi continues his lesson, but it is lost entirely to Dario, sunk into a haze of pain and arousal. The focus is definitely on his upper thighs, and every blow has him clenching around the plug, intensifying the sensation of the welts he’s sure are forming.

“Your turn.” Dario vaguely hears Santi say, and there’s a moment of blessed relief before there’s another strike, Khalila’s first. It’s not as strong or as precisely placed as Santi’s had been, but it still hurts. The second is stronger, more confident, and by the fourth Dario is grunting with each blow, trying to hold back another yell. He loses count of how many strikes he takes, but it cannot be more than a dozen before a hand on his lower back signals that it’s over.

“You took that very well.” Khalila says in a low voice, and Dario can’t help the shiver that comes from the praise. He doesn’t know where Santi has gone. “Do you need a moment before coming down?”

Dario tries to think for a second. _Does_ he need a moment? Finally, he shakes his head. “Water, my lady?”

“Of course, dearest.” Khalila is already undoing the cuffs at his wrists, stretching onto her tiptoes and pressing her body against his back – and his red backside – to reach them. A few moments later and he’s loose, and he leans his forehead against the cross for a second, trying to focus on anything but the pain of his ass and thighs.

“Dearest?” That’s Khalila again, with a glass of water. Dario automatically reaches out to take it, only to belatedly remember the mitts covering his hands. Humiliation and arousal compete, coiling in his chest, as he lets Khalila hold the glass up for him to take a few careful sips, and arousal wins when she mutters “Good boy.”

Thirst sated; Dario waits for his next order. He hasn’t quite reached the point of obeying without question, not yet, but he doesn’t want to _dis_ obey, either. His brain is on automatic, but with a lag, like a Codex message that’s taking a while to come through, or an automata with faulty wiring.

“Are you listening?”

Dario looks up, suddenly aware that Khalila is talking, and looking at him sternly.

“Apologies, my lady.” He ducks his head in contrition, hoping to avoid further punishment.

“Hmm.” She doesn’t look convinced but leaves the matter behind in favour of pointing him over to the table with the ink and quill. Santi is leaning back on it, arms crossed and clearly waiting. Dario swallows a little before walking over.

“Over the table, boy.”

With a sense of déjà vu, Dario does as he’s told, but this time his hands are pulled from under him and gathered at the small of his back, held there in a firm grip. Someone grasps the plug still inside him and pulls it a little, tugging it out of his hole and pushing it back in a few times until his now mostly soft cock is standing hard again. It’s finally pulled out, only to be replaced by something else that feels thicker, wider around. Whoever is inserting the plug - Dario assumes Khalila, since the hand holding him to the table is clearly Santi – takes their time with it, and it seems like hours before it’s finally seated, brushing against his prostate. Dario is pulled upright, and whines deep in his chest at the movement. His hands are released, and a second later a hand on his shoulder pushes him down to sit on the chair. The combination of the new plug and the welts on his ass has Dario trying to stand almost immediately, but Khalila is wrapping a collar around his throat, a collar that’s attached to the back of the chair by a chain, and Santi is kneeling to attach cuffs to his ankles and the chair legs.

“Lines.” Santi sounds almost smug as he states the next part of Dario’s punishment. “And we both know how much care you take with your handwriting, so each one will be perfect, or you’ll do it again.”

Dario can’t help himself. “Christ, you sound like Wolfe.” He mutters under his breath, but of course they both hear it. Santi raise an eyebrow, but Dario doesn’t see it, his head pulled back by Khalila’s hand on his hair, forcing it against the back of the chair.

“What’s rule two?” Khalila’s tone is clearly learnt from Santi, light but deadly.

“Keep a respectful tongue, my lady.” Dario gasps.

“Was that respectful to the Commander? Or his Scholar?”

“No, my lady.”

Khalila releases his hair. “No, it wasn’t.” She turns her attention to Santi. “Will you mitt him again afterwards?”

Dario is confused by this apparent non-sequitur, until he realises that of course he can’t write lines without the use of his hands.

“No, I think he’s learnt his lesson about keeping his hands to himself.” Santi’s tone is the same as Khalila’s, the same one the Commander uses on mission, and _dios_ Dario is never going to be able to hear it again without thinking of this exact moment, chained to a chair, ass hurting and full, the Commander and his lady staring down at him in disappointment.

“In that case, full speech restriction. For the rest of the night.”

“But-“ Dario starts to argue, but very quickly decides against it at the look on Khalila’s face.

“I think another ten lines. Thirty.” Santi declares. “And an added sentence. It was going to be just ‘I must obey my lady’, but now it’ll be ‘I must obey my lady and respect my superiors.”

“I think that sounds fair, don’t you, dearest?”

Dario nods.

“What’s full speech restriction?” Santi asks curiously as he picks one of Dario’s hands up and starts to work on the buckle holding the mitt on.

“As you’ve realised, he doesn’t like waiting. He likes attention too much. This rule forbids him from speaking or making noise unless it’s an absolute emergency, which means he can’t get my attention, he has to wait for me to be ready to pay attention to him. He can sign, but that’s it.”

“That’s why you needed to know if I’d mitt him again.”

“Exactly.”

The second mitt comes off, and Dario relishes in the ability to stretch his fingers again, making a deal with himself that he’d never give Khalila or Santi the cause to use the mitts again.

“Alright boy, time to start.” Santi pushes the paper and ink pot towards Dario. “Remember, perfect handwriting.”

Dario nods, and gets to work. He gets into a rhythm quickly enough, and the five lines are done in no time, and he almost manages to forget about the welts and the plug, the collar around his neck.

He assumed he would be left alone to complete his lines in peace, but that notion was displaced at the start of line six, with a hand running through his hair. Dario leans into the touch slightly, and the movement jolts his quill a little too much, jarring the line on the y of ‘obey’. There’s a slight tsk, and the hand withdraws, and Dario is too preoccupied to even work out who it was.

The next touch comes half-way through line seven, a tweak of his nipple, and this time he jerks enough to send a line of ink half -way across the page. This was Santi, and Dario doesn’t need to be able to see his face to know he’s smirking. The touches get worse. A hand running down his chest, more playing with his nipples, a couple of times reaching down to stroke his cock, until by the time he's finished the lines, Dario is a panting, shivering mess, and the last few are almost unreadable.

Of course, the second he puts the quill down, whoever was behind him walks away, and Dario can’t make a sound, and the collar prevents him from turning to get anyone’s attention, and so he must wait. The lack of touch does give him chance to calm himself down, and he closes his eyes and leans back against the chair.

“Falling asleep on us, dearest?”

Dario’s eyes shoot open and he sits upright in a sudden motion he quickly regrets as it jars the plug inside him, and he tries to curl in on himself a little, but only ends up choking himself on his collar

“Careful, boy.” Santi warns lightly, and Dario manages to bite his lip and stop himself from making the snide comment he really wants to.

Khalila picks up the sheet of paper and makes a little noise of disappointment. “I thought you’d be better at this, dearest. What do you think Commander, another fifteen to make up for the ones he ruined?”

“I think that sounds about right.” Santi agrees, and Dario only partially holds back his groan, earning him a warning glance from Khalila.

“Get going then.” Khalila places the paper back down, and Dario picks up his quill again, vowing to be more prepared for the touches this time. Of course, this means they don’t come, and he spends the next few minutes tense and on edge, waiting in anticipation for something that never comes, and so by the end of it, he’s a mess in an entirely different way.

He isn’t made to wait this time, as Santi picks up the paper as soon as Dario lays the quill down. Santi studies it closely, before deeming it acceptable.

“I suppose that’ll have to do.” Santi unbuckles the collar, and the ankle cuffs, and offers a hand to Dario to pull him upright. Dario takes it, and stifles a whine as the plug shifts inside him once more.

“Don’t worry, that’ll be out soon enough.” Santi reassures him. “Over to the bed.”

Dario starts to do as he’s told, but catches a glimpse of himself in a mirror across the room, and has to stop. His hair is a mess, cheeks flushed, eyes wide and pupils blown. He can’t see the welts on his backside, but he can certainly feel them, and knows they’re red. He stands for a second, transfixed at his own image, and then Santi is behind him, curling one arm around Dario’s chest, the other hand flat on his stomach.

“Oh, we have made a pretty mess of you, haven’t we?” He murmurs into Dario’s ear. “I wonder what else we can do.” The hand on Dario’s chest moves upwards to his throat, and Dario lets his head lean back onto Santi’s shoulder as the Commander plants soft kisses down his jawline. Dario’s eyes fall shut, and the moment feels like it lasts forever and for no time at all before Santi pulls away. It takes a second for Dario to find his balance again, and when he does, and opens his eyes, Santi is no longer standing behind him but by the bed, and next to Khalila. She’s changed at some point, exchanging her long loose gown for a pair of flowing trousers, and next to her on the bed is a harness. Dario swallows, throat dry, before going over to them.

“On the bed, on your knees, hands behind your back.” Santi instructs, and Dario scrambles to obey. As he does, he sees Khalila step into the harness, the black phallus attached to it almost invisible against the black of her clothes.

“-oy. Boy.” Dario turns his attention to Santi, only distantly aware he was addressed more than once. Santi holds up a leather band, and now Dario’s attention is all for him, and that little ring which promises so much.

“Can’t have you enjoying yourself too much.” Santi explains as he efficiently snaps it in place. “Down on your hands.”

Dario drops as he feels the bed behind him shift and Khalila’s small hand ghosts over his lower back.

“My beautiful boy.” He hears her whisper, and shivers. There’s a hand twisting the plug, forcing it in and out for a few seconds before it’s pulled out entirely, and Santi is kneeling in front of him and undoing his trousers, freeing his cock. Dario is only vaguely aware of Khalila and Santi having a silent conversation above his head before they both thrust forward at the same time. Dario gags, tries to pull back, but that only forces him onto Khalila’s cock, which makes him push forward again. It takes a few seconds to find equilibrium, an even spot between the two, and then they start to move, alternating strokes, Santi’s hands in Dario’s hair, Khalila’s around his hips, pulling him up and into her. He’s lost, floating, his world narrowed down to movement, the push and pull, the sensation of the two cocks, fake and real, the warmth of hands on him, tugging his hair. It’s too much and not enough, his cock is leaking but there isn’t enough for him to come, and he couldn’t even if he wanted too, and he tries to moan around the cock in his mouth but only ends up gagging on it again.

Dario’s only indication of Santi being close is the other man’s movement stopping, and then he’s coming, and Dario tries to swallow it all, and almost manages it. As he does, Khalila pulls out and Dario does groan then, loudly, and belatedly remembers his speech restrictions when Khalila slaps his already sore backside. They move then, something Dario is only vaguely aware of, until he’s leaning back against Khalila, her arms looping between his, her feet in between his knees to keep them spread, and Santi is kneeling between his legs.

“What do we think?” Santi says lightly. “Has he been good enough?”

“He did take his caning beautifully.” Khalila muses. Dario’s hips buck a little, and she takes a moment to soothe a hand down his chest. “Hush dearest, be patient.” Admonishment and promise all in one.

“He did,” Santi agrees. “But he did mouth off and touched himself without permission.”

“True. And his handwriting was atrocious, I wouldn’t have let him get away with it.”

“How about a compromise then? Are you listening, boy?”

Dario jerks, and nods his head frantically.

“You get to come, and then I lock your cock in this.” Santi holds up a metal cage, distinctly curved and with an obvious purpose.

Dario can’t stop himself from whining. He’s never wanted something more, and less. He’s vaguely aware of what the compromise is of though, recalls a discussion that seems like it was a decade ago that he would either get to come, or he wouldn’t, and his cock would be caged. In light of that, this seems perfect, and nods again.

“Alright.” Santi puts the cage down to one side, snaps the cock ring off and leans down to take Dario in his mouth in one smooth motion. It only takes seconds for Dario to come, arching against Khalila’s hold, losing all focus as his brain whites out.

Dario comes back to awareness to the snick of a tiny lock, and a new weight at his groin. He looks down, and bites back a groan.

“That stays on for a week.” Khalila tells him in his ear, still holding his arms back. “And then we’ll review your behaviour.”


End file.
